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Pink glared. “I don’t care if you’re Special Agent Fox Mulder. I agreed to talk to Kennedy. Nobody else.”
“Kennedy’s busy.”
Pink’s lips parted as though he was stunned. After a second, he said, “He’s afraid to face me.”
“Yeah. You got him cold,” Jason said. “He’s terrified.” He opened his file.
Pink didn’t like that. “I’m not talking to a piss-ant junior G-man. I’ll talk to Kennedy and nobody else.”
“Then you’ll talk to nobody.” Jason slapped shut his file, rose, and signaled to the guard.
Pink eyed him in open disbelief.
“Let me know if you change your mind,” Jason said.
Please change your mind. I can’t walk out of this room without something…anything…you asshole…
Pink’s expression grew derisive. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Bah-bye,” he drawled.
Jason walked to the reinforced steel door. The guard buzzed Open.
Shit. It had taken him all of two minutes to blow this opportunity. Kennedy was going to nail his hide to the wall. And Jason didn’t blame him.
Maybe Pink would back down?
There was only silence from the other side of the room.
Jason strode out. The door closed behind him with a heavy and final-sounding slam.
Kennedy, finally turning up after his meeting with Dr. Fuchs, took it well.
Surprisingly well, in Jason’s opinion. Had he anticipated this outcome?
“All right. Don’t sweat it. Let’s get something to eat,” Kennedy said. “We’ll figure it out over lunch.”
They found a diner a safe distance from the prison and ordered burgers and soft drinks.
“At least Fuchs isn’t a complete bleeding heart,” Kennedy said, as they waited for their meals. “He doesn’t like solitary confinement on principle, but he’s not kicking in Pink’s case.”
“I can’t think of a better place for Pink than isolation,” Jason said.
“He seems to have hit a nerve with you.”
A nerve? Yeah, Pink had hit a nerve. He had murdered someone Jason loved. But the last thing he wanted to do was confirm any ideas Kennedy might have as to his ability to remain objective and impartial.
The waitress brought their soft drinks. Ginger ale for Kennedy and Coke for Jason. Jason peeled the paper off his straw and said, “So according to Fuchs there isn’t any chance Pink might have formed a friendship with another inmate who was subsequently released?”
“No. Not a chance. Pink is in that cell twenty-three hours a day.” Kennedy was definite. “The only time he’s not is when he’s escorted to the shower or to exercise outside in that human kennel with the other lifers. What we can’t be equally sure of is how much contact he has with the world beyond the prison gates.”
In theory he had zero contact—aside from radio, television, and curated reading material. In practice, guards could be bribed and messages could be secretly transmitted through a variety of methods and mediums.
“Is he allowed visitors?” Jason asked.
“He’s permitted two visits a month from family members.”
“Does he have family members?”
“No.”
